Research
by stress
Summary: [companion piece to Diabo] In the fall of 1974, Tony Higgins had one thought on his mind as he, per the Devil's orders, watched over the Cearr twins: Oh, well. At least it’s better than dealing with Delancey.


Author's Note: _And yes, this is the _third _companion piece to _Diabo. _Like the previous two, I took a passing mention and decided, for fun, to expand on it here. The mention I am referring to in _Research _is from the 48__th__ chapter of _Diabo_, just in case you are following that. If anything, after reading this, you will understand further Tony's role in the whole thing. And maybe some other things as well, too. _

_I do want to say that the style for this was a bit more fun, and light-hearted, than the previous two. I had fun putting in as many references to things that I could (a list can be found at the end of the story) – plus, it was fun further characterizing the Devil. Woot._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original _Newsies _characters that appear here – they are the property of Disney. This features my interpretation of the Devil as well as quite a few mentions of historical figures… whom I definitely do not own. They were just added for my amusement and for those history dorks like me. _

This short is part of the a Maldição de Diabo universe.

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Research

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**April 9, 1974**

"There you are, Anthony. I've been waiting for you."

Trying to get comfortable in his newly adapted human skin, Tony Higgins glanced around. When the Devil had told him that he was going to receive some sort of reward for fifty years of dedicated work, Tony had not known what the Master had in mind. It had irked him that the Devil found some great glee in reminding him that he had died fifty years ago but, of course, he could not say anything. Masquerading as a human may itch, but it was better than being disintegrated.

Instead, he shrugged. "I had to finish sorting a few souls. One of them, some nobody called Goldwyn… Sam Goldwyn… did not want to be put into the Fourth Level of Hell. I tried to explain again that that's where people like him go – the ruthless businessman and such, but he wasn't having it. So I finally decided just to have Pluto take care of him. And now I'm here." He shook his head. "Crazy old coot. Kept telling me that I reminded him of someone he worked with."

The Devil raised one of his perfectly arched eyebrows before folding the newspaper that he had held between his long, nimble white fingers. "Fascinating, I'm sure," he answered, wryly, tapping the paper against the knee of his tailored suit. He then lifted it up to point out one of the headlines below the banner. "Look at that one, Anthony."

Squinting his dark eyes – it was far too light out aboveground and it took all he had in him to keep his eyes from reverting back to their fiery state – Tony read the headline. "'715: Aaron Beats the Babe.'" He paused, then, "Devil damn, someone broke Ruth's record? I never thought I'd live—" Tony stopped mid-word, cleared his throat, and continued, "I mean, I never thought that would happen."

Glossing over Tony's near slip – even after all that time being dead, he assumed that the mortals never really got over it; never having been truly alive, the Devil did not necessarily understand their attachment to life but ignored it all the same – he nodded in accord, one finger stroking his thin, black goatee. "Yes. I assume that George will be rather upset at that," he said, tucking the newspaper under his arm. "But, he _is _in Hell, after all. I shall have to remember to tell him. Add to his punishment, if you will."

Tony folded his stubby hands over his middle, aware that the Master had chosen for him to wear a suit quite like his own: a tailored to fit black coat, matching slacks and a pristine white shirt. They both wore silk ties: Tony's red, the Devil's black. It was presented as an expensive outfit, though money was of no value in the Underworld. He could not understand why he was clothed in such a manner; nor could he figure why the Devil was engaging him in small conversation. It was odd but Tony knew better than to comment on that. He just nodded once. "Of course, Master."

The Devil pulled up the sleeve of his suit jacket, revealing a black onyx carved watch. There were neither numbers engraved in the shiny rock, nor any hands with which to indicate the time – only a flashing symbol that came and went before Tony could see what it was – but it did not matter. He was able to infer something from the quick sight and, shaking his arm, his sleeve covered the dial.

"Anthony," he began, slipping his hand inside his suit jacket. His abnormally dark eyes were focused on one particular building – one that Tony thought looked vaguely familiar to him but could not remember – as his hands searched for something inside the inner pocket, "I suppose you are wondering why I summoned you." There was something about the way he said that – short, terse and to the point – that did not invite Tony to respond. The demon kept quiet. He figured that there had to be more to it.

He was right. However, that did not mean that the Devil was in any rush to share that with his underling.

"Ah ha," the Devil muttered under his breath, smiling to himself as he withdrew something from his pocket. "Here it is."

It was small and red and, unless Tony was mistaken, shaped like a pipe. However, it had a distinctive cherry smell to it, but not that of cherry tobacco; it was almost as if it was candy. But, knowing that the Devil had a particular cigarette designed and produced – _Red Death_ – that he distributed to the varying levels of his demon employees, Tony thought that it might just be an embellishment of the earlier design; rather than a stick, he designed a pipe.

He assumed that his hunch was proven true when the Devil placed the item in between his lips. He let it settle there for a few seconds and, after sucking hard enough on it that his pale cheeks went gaunt, small black puffs of smoke began to rise from the end of the pipe.

Tony watched enviously as the Master puffed away on his pipe. It had been ages – fifty years and one week to be exact – since the last smoke he had had. Craving a good Havana cigar, he tried his damndest to think of anything else. Dead flowers. An out of tune piano. The smell of brimstone in the evening. Lying. Cheating. Stealing. Gin.

Tony hadn't had gin in fifty years and one week, either.

The pair stood in silence, entirely invisible as countless persons passed them by. Tony longed to make a wisecrack about the way some of them were dressed but, taking his cue from the Master, remained silent. He had the suspicion that he was waiting for something – or someone.

He was about to make some comment, perhaps about the weather, just to break up the quiet when the Devil shifted his position. He removed the pipe from his mouth and gestured with it. "There, Anthony. They are why we are here."

Tony followed where the Master was pointing and was surprised to see that his attention was on two girls – two girls who wore the same face. Twins. Both with oval faces, long, curly, light brown hair and an identical build. They were walking in step, approaching the front of the building before pausing in front of the entrance. Neither noticed the pair of men ogling from across the way.

But that was not it. These two girls did not only resemble each other to Tony's mind; they resembled Jack's old flame, Jessa Rhian. It was almost as if there was a sudden punch to his gut. That was definitely not a face he had hoped to ever see again.

Quickly, and quite confused, Tony tore his gaze from the identical girls, looking purposely over at the Master, hoping for some sort of explanation. However, his attention was swayed when he noticed something strange about the being standing beside him. Whereas he had never noticed anything about the Master's appearance before – whenever he assumed a form that was more than a towering flame – now he saw something strange: the Devil's lips, once as pale as the rest of his flesh, were a bright red color. But not the color of fresh blood. Something else…

And then it dawned on him. With brazen curiosity, and an amused smirk that had not been extinguished even after half a century in Hell, Tony nodded at his Lord. "Master? Is that… is that candy?"

Lying was second nature to the Devil. But, he also knew when he was caught. Anthony Higgins was not worth lying to. "It's not candy, Anthony. It's licorice," he admitted, as if it made a huge difference. It didn't but he was the Devil – what did it matter? He placed the candied pipe back between his lips before quoting, "'If there's anything I'm a sucker for, it's licorice.'"

His words went directly over Tony's head. The Devil smirked, his lips curling around the stem of the licorice pipe. "I forgot. You don't get out much, do you, Anthony? It's from _Adam's Rib_, a 1945 film about wed lawyers." He nodded approvingly. "Two of my favorite things: lawyers and arguing spouses. Reminds me of home, wouldn't you say?"

"Of course, Master," Tony agreed before shaking his head. He had, for a second, forgotten about what he had just seen. Pointing over at the twin girls who were still standing – and, from what Tony could tell, talking intensely to each other – in front of that strange building, he said, "Wait. We're here for them? Who are they?"

"Does the name 'Daite' mean anything to you, Anthony?"

There was a faint sizzle of recognition but it faded before Tony could grasp onto it. He shook his head. "Not that I can think of."

The Devil resisted the urge to sigh out loud. He was sure he had briefed Anthony on his soon-to-be role in Jack Kelly's curse, and the wrangling of Kelly's soul and that of the Rhian girl – or, maybe, he had informed Oscar Delancey that his partner needed to be kept up to speed. "Didn't your old friend, Oscar, tell you what was going on?"

It bothered Tony, hearing the Master refer to Delancey as an old friend, but he kept that to himself. Instead, he shook his head a second time. At least he was going to get Delancey in trouble for neglecting to tell him about these girls that were running around looking like Stress did near seventy-five years ago. "No, Master."

This time, the Devil could not keep his sigh inside. He removed the licorice pipe again and let out a whoosh of hot air before chancing a quick explanation. It would not be as entertaining if his players did not know the rules – how else could he expect them to bend them in order to cheat and win the game?

"You are familiar with the curse that your Francis Sullivan is under?"

It was strange to hear Jack being referred to as Francis. It brought back half-lingering memories of the summer of 1899 but he quickly squashed them. This was important. "Yes. I know about that."

"Good. Then you know the 'Daite' family. They are on the _other _side." As he said that, the Devil's plain face twisted, transforming fleetly into that of an ugly beast. It took a second for him to get back under control and, in that second, Tony felt as if working as a Hellish bureaucrat was a much better fate than anything the Master could come up with. "Yes… well, these two," he added, ignoring the terrified way that Tony was glancing at him, "are the latest generation of those accursed brats. One of them will help Sullivan. We don't want that, do we?"

"Of course not, Master."

"I'm glad you agree, Anthony, because it is you that I have chosen to watch over these two. I want to know which one is the one who will side with Sullivan and I want her taken care of. Oscar can not handle this responsibility any longer." His eyes flashed a vivid shade of red at the thought of what happened the last time he let Delancey have some clout with this curse – rather than letting the Daite line end with the second generation, he mucked up the magic and helped the second generation girl birth twins. "With two of them, the power will be strong. But I have plans for the third generation girl. She will be instrumental at the end."

Tony looked over at the two girls – their conversation was growing a bit more heated, with one of the twins using her hands to illustrate some unheard point – and felt his own lips curl evilly. Even from that distance, he could feel the _good _that radiated off of them. It would be fun to corrupt that tempting, and distasteful, aura of good-ness.

The Devil waited a second before continuing, "It's a simple assignment, Anthony. Watch. Listen. Learn." He placed his licorice pipe back into his mouth and sucked on the sticky candy. He neglected to produce the small clouds of smoke, though. He had only done it as a front for his strange fascination with the mortal sweet; it was pointless, now that Tony had discovered his secret. "I have faith that you will handle the matter in a far better way than your associate."

With a mixture of pride that the Master had chosen him for this assignment, and triumph that he was chosen over Delancey to perform a task, Tony felt his adopted human chest expand. Those poor girls would never know what hit them.

And made the assignment all the sweeter that the pair so resembled Stress – though he was well aware that the facial structures and even mannerisms were not coincidental. If having Tony and Delancey work over Cowboy's curse was the Devil's idea of a joke, than making each and every one of the Daite girls resemble Stress was Fate's.

"So, when would you like me to begin, Master?"

The Devil, now that his cover was blown, took a bite off of the tip of the red licorice pipe, his white teeth viciously tearing through the tough candy. He chewed it carefully, his dark eyes narrowed, his lips curled, as he watched the twins finish their conversation and vanish into the cursed building. "Why, immediately, Anthony."

Tony nodded. He had figured as much – and, as much as he felt at home in Hell, it felt a bit… _refreshing _to be in a human form again. That is, if he could overlook the fact that the ill-fitting skin itched like crazy. He scratched his arm, trying to hide the weakness from the Master, and jerked his head in the direction of No. 9 Duane Street; he still did not recognize the location but, in time, would. He would feel like a great fool when he finally did. "And all you want me to do is watch? Right?" Somehow, he could not believe that it was that easy. Nothing the Devil ever did was easy.

There was another crunch as the rest of the candied stem was consumed. The Devil swallowed, taking his time in answering Tony's question. He was not in the habit of repeating himself and his explanation, he felt, had sufficed earlier. But, after putting forth three-quarters of a century towards garnering three specific souls, he was not going to let it go to waste because his help was inadequate – and Tony was actually one of the best he had, too. He just hoped the demon proved himself to perform to expectations.

_It's so hard to find good help nowadays_, he mused before finishing his pipe. The amount of cherry flavoring distilled into the hard candy was addicting; he was already planning on getting his hands on every maker of this candy that he could, just so he could keep his sweet tooth hidden. It would not do well for the Lord of Hell to be known as a licorice fiend.

Taking his time, he wiped his pristine pale hands against his dark trousers – hand-tailored, of course – before turning to glance down at his subordinate. He ran one abnormally long finger down the length of his goatee, smiling as he did so, before finally answering. "Let's just call it research."

--

Tony could not get used to these newfangled automobiles. He did not miss his old car, that Ford Model TT, per se – it was hard to miss the contraption that, thanks to some cantankerous feline, inadvertently caused his untimely demise. But, when the Master told him that he would have to blend in far better than he had been, he had not had any choice but steal a car to get about in.

Besides, how was he supposed to know that the old man was watching him? Was it really his fault that he watched him disappear in a clap of thunder only for him to have a heart attack and die? At least the Devil got a soul out of that one…

He was lucky, though. While there were no '21 models driving around Manhattan any more, he found a nice red '57 Chevy that he did not mind operating. It was just the sort of car that a man his caliber should be driving, he figured, even if he _did _spend most of his time parked in front of Duane Street, watching out for the twins.

They were strange girls, he noticed. While identical on the outside, if one knew them well enough – and Tony was, after six solid months, mortal time, of watching the Cearr twins, beginning to think that he knew them _extremely_ well – it was quite easy to tell them apart. Ariadne was the quieter of the two, while Arianrhod could be heard from across the street; Ariadne spent most of her time either inside the building or with Jack Kelly, Arianrhod had a hoard of friends that continually came and went.

And, more importantly for his work, the elder twin did not have the sight. No matter how she tried – or, really, how hard her twin tried to help her to – she could not hear, speak to or see the ghost boy. And, when Tony finally grew frustrated enough with the lack of information on Arianrhod and spoke to her, she knew nothing of the name he offered; this girl had never heard the name Jessa Rhian before. Unless Cowboy was as inept as he had proven thus far, this one had no knowledge of the curse that, in essence, plagued them all. Or she was lying.

Tony, who had known Jack Kelly all his life, would not put it past him to have the twins lie to cover for him. Like Jack had always said, "If a lie is repeated often enough all the dumb jackasses in the world not only get to believe it, they even swear by it." Or maybe that was Billy Boy Franklin. Either way, Cowboy lied to people all his life in order to get ahead; Tony was positive that he was, somehow, doing the same thing now in death. Jack wanted to best the Devil now and save Stress – and Tony was sure that he was doing what he could to accomplish that.

Especially if that concerned manipulating the poor innocents – ever since that day that the Devil finally allowed Tony to assume his role, he had spied Jack alongside one of the girls. But Arianrhod, as loopy as that kid was, was definitely lying to him – he could tell. So it was, as far as Tony could tell, Ariadne who was the chosen Daite girl; his suspicion was vilified once he spied Jack and Ariadne walking together down Duane Street.

That discovery of his meant that it was also Ariadne who would be the next pawn in the Master's intricate game. It was a shame, too. If circumstances were different, Tony thought that she would have made a nice plaything for him instead.

Not that, if the Devil did not get to her first, he thought he would get his fiery digits – er, hands… it was hard to get used to the human form – on her. In the time that he spied on – researched – the twins, he could tell that there was something going on between the younger twin and Cowboy. One sided as that may be, considering that Jack was too oblivious to notice the longing puppy dog looks the teenager gave him, the few times that Ariadne noticed Tony watching her, she did nothing but back away nervously. And, while the idea that this child was afraid excited the demon part of him, the minor amount of good that was left in him felt just a tad bit lonely watching after a pair of girls that just so happened to be mixed up with one old friend while inexplicably wearing the face of another…

_Oh, well. At least it's better than dealing with Delancey._

--

The door slammed behind her and she breathed a sigh of relief. She had just left Jack's hideaway next to the old shoe shop – she heard that it was being closed in order to build a bank and that amused her; she definitely did not trust Jack around all that money, even if there was nothing he could spend it on – and walked home in time for supper with her family. The walk had been entirely uneventful… until she turned onto Duane Street.

The car was there again.

It was only the third time that she had seen that old, red car parked across the street but it was definitely unnerving. It gave her a prickly feeling at the back of neck just knowing that it was there. And, when she had happened to make eye contact with the man who was all but leering at her from the first seat… well, it was a surprise that she had been able to enter the apartment building without flat out running.

"Ria? That you? Mom and Dad just ran to the store so it's up to you and me to set the table."

Ariadne heard her twin sister's voice and felt even safer now, even if her parent's weren't home yet.. At least she wasn't alone. If the man was really, as she believed, staring at her, she could always throw Arianrhod his way instead. _Sometimes there really is a good side to being a twin._

Nodding, though her sister – who, as far she could tell, was in the kitchen, preparing dinner – could not see her, Ariadne began to head towards the hallway. Feeling a bit guilty at her prior thought, she decided to tell her sister about the creepy man who was, once again, parked out on Duane Street. "Hey Roddy? You're never gonna guess who's sitting in front of the building again…"

Arianrhod, from her position at the sink, washing up for dinner, rolled her eyes. One of these days she would have to tell her sister that that same man – the one that Ria was convinced was spying on her – actually had a civil, if somewhat strange, conversation with her.

It amused her greatly that it was perfectly all right for Ariadne to believe that she was communicating with a boy who died almost seventy-four years ago but a man could not park his '57 Chevy right outside their apartment building.

"Let me guess… Don Vito Corleone?"

Ariadne appeared in the kitchen just in time to hear Arianrhod's less-than-serious reply. "Funny, Roddy. Very funny," she answered, dryly, as she walked over to join her sister at the sink. As she reached over and turned the faucet on – going through Jack's dusty old photographs made her filthy – she did think about what Arianrhod had said. "You know… now that you mention it… that guy _does_ look a little bit like Marlon Brando. Just a bit younger, I think."

Arianrhod picked up a dishtowel that was resting off to the side of the sink. Throwing it at her sister's head, she smiled. "Only you, Ria. Only you."

--

End Note: _Let's see… considering the double meaning of this piece's title, I thought that I would at least give credit to the mentions in this story – it is up to you, as the reader, to further research them, should you choose. Fun, eh? I thought so._

_The following things were mentioned: Samuel Goldwyn (who, coincidentally, worked with Marlon Brando, Jr. in _Guys and Dolls_); Dante Alighieri's _Divine Comedy _(specifically _The Inferno_); Hank Aaron, Babe Ruth and the race for 715 homeruns; the 1945 film Adam's Rib; licorice pipes; Billy Boy Franklin; _The Godfather_. And remember… wikipedia is your friend ;)_


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